“The morning slathers its whateveracross the thing.”

“The morning slathers its whateveracross the thing.”

“Something must bevery wrong,' it said,and I agreed,although it turned outthe author meant that 'no theoryof physics should produceinfinities with impunity.'I’d point out that every theoryof the heartproduces infinitieswith impunityif I were the kind of jerkwho uses the heartto mean the humantendency to makeothers sufferjust because wehate to sufferalone. I’m sorryI brought a fitted sheetto the beach. I’m sorry I’m selfish and determinedto make the worstof everything. I’msorry language is a ship that goes downwhile you’re building it.The Hesychasts of Byzantiumstripped their prayersof words. It’s been triedwith poems too. But insofaras I am a disappointment to myself and others, it seems fittingto set up shop in almost and not quite and that’s not what I meant. I draw the line at the heart,though, with itsinfinities.”